Lost in Flames
by rhapsodybree
Summary: A fire threatens to burn Pemberley to the ground and Amanda Price/Darcy finds her grip on reality faltering. Sequel to "Lost in Another World".
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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When the call for fire first sounded throughout the large house, Amanda Darcy leapt from the bed and made straight for the cot to retrieve their newest arrival, seven week old Elizabeth, as her husband left the room for their two sons.

The wide awake Austen and sleepy Bennet in his arms, Fitz returned swiftly. The acrid smell of smoke was reaching the upper levels as he guided them from the room and down the stairs. In the large gardens of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy set his two sons down on the ground and looked back toward his ancestral house in concern.

"Call 911," suggested Amanda as she took a seat on the bench. "Get the fire trucks around."

He gave her a puzzled look in reply before he squeezed her shoulder and headed for the house once again.

Amanda looked in worry at the fire and smoke billowing from the west wing. Her concern was interrupted by the increasing whimpers from the bundle in her arms. "Ssh sweetheart," she said softly to her baby daughter, standing up and rocking her in her arms.

Four year old Aus and three year old Ben sat before her on the bench. Her eldest child was calmer, sitting with his head propped up in his hands, surveying all before him as her excitable middle child bounced and looked around in awe, talking a mile a minute. She was distracted from this chatter when a man dashed toward her. "Is Mistress okay?" the undergardener asked in concern.

She could see that he wanted head to the house and help and was touched by his concern. "I'm fine," she reassured him. "Go and help." She was no wilting flower that needed to be coddled in a time of crisis!

"I help too!" crowed Ben and Amanda quickly turned on her son as the undergardener froze, uncertain of what to do. "Sorry darling," she said smoothly. "Big boys only this time."

"Aw," complained her son as the undergardener nodded thankfully and left. Ben's disappointment swiftly disappeared when his brother declared that a horse had just arrived. "A horse Mama!" said Austen. "'orse," copied Ben.

Amanda looked up in confusion when the new arrival thundered in and jumped from his horse to land just short of them. "Wickham?"

He doffed his hat with a grin that was tinged with worry. "How do you always know when and where to be?" she muttered.

"She needs eyes on the inside doesn't she?" he replied ambiguously before he dashed for the house.

She would have to ponder that comment later as Bess began to cry out loud once again, not satisfied with being ignored. Looking around, she gave up and pulled her nightgown off her shoulder, rearranging the blanket. Guiding Bess to her nipple, she turned and pulled her firmly against her body. She patted the baby's bottom aimlessly as her daughter nursed strongly, her worry growing as she looked at the burning building.

Jane Austen hadn't written about that.

Her mind then went all Jane Eyre on her, thinking of the burning building at Thornfield Hall. She quickly dashed those thoughts from her mind as she recalled what had happened to Rochester. She didn't need Darcy getting hurt.

Her son thankfully pulled her from such thought when he tugged on her nightgown. Titling down, retaining a hold on her Bess, she saw Austen pointing and Ben's eyes about to pop out of his head. "Look Mama!"

And look she did. At Wickham carrying Georgiana free of the fire.

* * *

It was a smoky-smelling, dirtier husband that found her some hours later as dawn streaked across the sky. He was exhausted as he took a seat beside her. The west wing was destroyed, but the east wing had been saved, albeit with the addition of a great quantity of ash and smoke. "Are you okay?" she asked of her husband, freeing a hand and resting it on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he replied, brushing off her concern as he leaned in close, pressing a quick kiss to her lips meant to reassure as he plucked the whiny baby from her arms. In Fitz's firm arms, their daughter was finally silent. (Austen and Bennet had succumbed to slumber some time ago, both curled up and covered in the blanket beside her.)

The palm of her hand resting on her husband's shoulder suddenly felt hot. Removing her hand, she struggled to breathe as she looked around desperately. The colours streaking across the morning sky suddenly began to move, rolling toward her like a storm. The world began to shift and everything before her swam.

Amanda pitched to her side and all went black.

____

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_

Next chapter:

Waking up in modern day London. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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It hurt.

Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut as she tried to open them. Her brain sent orders that her eyes finally decided to obey and her eyelashes parted to offer a slit of light. It was too bright and brutal; they slammed shut instantly.

There was a strange woosh-woosh sound nearby and her body felt so heavy.

A smell assaulted her senses and a sudden flash of consciousness brought back a memory: lying on a hospital bed after her attempt at flying. She'd been eight years old and dared by the kid of her mum's latest boyfriend's sister. Jumping from the balcony had thankfully only resulted in a broken arm, but it had been a visit to the hospital nonetheless.

Tentatively she opened her eyes once again and saw white.

Blurry vision gave way to some clarity and she saw feet. Following the crossed limbs from their position propped up on the white sheet, she saw a person sitting on the chair close by. Her neck protested at the movement, but she ignored it as she recognised the person.

"Mum?" she croaked. _Why did her throat hurt? _

"You're awake!" the older woman exclaimed as she shot up in her chair. The face that moved was sluggish before her, but the whiff of smoke was easily detectible.

Smoke. _Smoke. _Why did she have that pressing feeling that she was missing something important?

Struggling to form words on her parched lips, she managed to get one free. "Smoke."

"Oh shush," Amanda's mother admonished her daughter, flapping her hands to move the smoke in the room around. "Let me finish this ciggie and then we'll get someone in."

Leann Price opened the small window a crack and blew out the last dreg before flicking the butt out. Watching her mother, Amanda felt pain in her muscles as she struggled to move and determine exactly where she was. Something felt very wrong. This wasn't home, and unfortunately the pain she was feeling seemed very real.

This was not happening.

She couldn't be back here. She _shouldn't _be back here. Panic began to settle in as fear bubbled to the surface. She struggled to breathe as she opened her mouth to speak once again. "Mum?" she cried out with a gasp.

"Oh shush," the older woman replied irately as she wafted her hands through the air to disperse the last lingering tendrils. "I'll go call for someone now."

As her mother left, Amanda felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

The nurse that rushed in next didn't help matters. The machines were checked, the chart was consulted, and she was poked and prodded. A doctor was paged for as she was summarily, for the most part, ignored.

The doctor arrived not long after. "Well, it is nice to see that you have decided to join us in the land of the living once again," said the tall man as he flicked through the charts. "Five years is a long time to be away."

It suddenly occurred to Amanda that this wasn't a bad dream. It was real, and if what they were saying was true, none of this had happened. She'd been in a coma. No Fitz. No Austen. No Ben. No Bess.

Bess.

Suddenly she snapped. "My baby!" she cried. "I can't be away from my baby for too long. She'll need feeding soon."

The nurse spoke in a soothing tone but the sudden grip on her arms was anything but. "Five mils nurse," ordered the doctor as Amanda fought to be free.

In every sense of the word.

"Please no," she begged uselessly, flailing about. A needle was injected into a tube and Amanda felt her grip on this reality slide as all went black.

* * *

Meanwhile in Austen, Fitzwilliam Darcy sits beside a bed, his three children in his lap, and watches.

And waits.

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_Next chapter_: Lizzie.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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Amanda shifted restlessly, her head rolling from side to side on the pillow.

In her dreams, her mind was moving at a hundred miles an hour. It looked like someone was holding a photo album in reverse and flicking over the pages with their thumb. The images flew across her mind like a spool of old footage...

Then it stopped.

She had no control as her mind's eyes zoomed in on lush green grounds that she recognised. _Pemberley! _her mind cried out. _Take me home._

She saw the laughing Austen as the determined Bennet chased after him. She saw the smile on little Bess's face. Turning from her children, she sought out the familiar form of her husband.

"Amanda?"

Her mouth opened wordlessly to speak and a wall slammed down shut between them. No longer was she there: she was far away. It was like she was looking through a stained glass window. Everything was blurring.

"Amanda?"

"Amanda?"

She jolted awake.

Breathing heavily, she recognised the concerned face of her friend. "You okay there?" said Piranha. "You were shifting around something bad."

Still reeling from her dream – though nightmare would be a more appropriate term – Amanda reached out an arm and latched onto her friend. _Piranha was here! Piranha would know – she would remember!_

"Lizzie," she said, and found her throat dry.

"What?" asked her friend, leaning down to try and hear her.

"What about Lizzie?" gasped Amanda.

"Lizzie?" laughed Piranha. "What you going on about, girl? We don't know no Lizzie."

"But she came through the wall and stayed with you at our place," pressed Amanda, her distress growing. "Well not for long," she amended, "because you got her that nanny job."

Piranha eyed her with pity. "I reckon that bump to the head of yours must have been worse than expected. You're delirious – plus it's been years."

"Lizzie!" repeated Amanda, calling out loudly.

"Amanda," said Piranha firmly. "The only Lizzie in our life is your one and only favourite." Drawing back, she reached into her bag and rummaged around. "And guess what?" she revealed gleefully. "I even brought it along with me!"

Amanda felt sick as Piranha continued to talk. "I couldn't find yours in your boxed up stuff, so I went out and got another one, cos I know how much you love it." Piranha revealed the book with a flourish.

It was Pride and Prejudice.

Her hand reached out of its own volition, and Amanda struggled to breathe. She conveyed her thanks as expected with a tight smile and placed the book on the bed sheet beside her. Piranha was gone not long after.

She couldn't bring herself to read it.

It stayed on the bed as the doctor came by and confirmed that she could go home tomorrow. It stayed on the bed as the nurse came in with her nightly medication. It stayed on the bed as the light faded and darkness crept in.

Amanda didn't know what time it was when she finally sucked in a deep breath and reached out to pick up the book. It was such a strange thing, the cover feeling so new and plastic.

The front cover was simply text, the name and title bold on a dark red background. Turning it over, she read the first sentence of the blurb.

_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of good fortune must be in want of a wife... _

Amanda threw the book across the room. It hit the stark white wall with a solid _thunk _and fell to the ground. She turned onto her side, curling up into a ball.

She couldn't visualise herself as Elizabeth Bennet anymore. All the name did now was evoke memories of her baby girl. She'd always expected to call her daughter Lizzie, but then she'd stumbled across her husband cradling their small daughter in his arms not long after she'd been born. "Hey there Bess," he'd said softly, running a long finger down the babe's soft cheek.

It had suited her.

Tears ran down her face as Amanda placed her fist to her mouth, trying to keep quiet. She did not want to alert anyone, or worse be forced to face the psychiatrist once again.

She wasn't crazy. Not with everything she had been through. _Right?_ The seeds of doubt in one corner of her mind grew a little more. Was there something wrong with her? Was it all just a dream? A five year long make-believe?

Was she Price or Darcy?

_

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_

Next Chapter:

Work. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

* * *

Amanda sucked in a big breath.

Tugging her thin jacket more firmly around her, she faced the familiar door. This was the same door that led into the apartment that she and Piranha had shared. According to life, it had been five years since she'd lived here – and four since Piranha had.

It didn't look any different, the number still slightly faded.

She needed to know once and for all if she was losing the plot, and this meant she needed to check the wall in the bathroom. She needed Longborne. She'd declined from telling anyone where she was going this morning for fear of being sent to the loony bin. Her mother thought she was going for a job interview.

Amanda raised her fisted hand and knocked on the door.

It was hard living five years in the future. Just this morning she had turned on the television and the newsreader was talking about the Prime Minister. Expecting to see the laughable features of Gordon Brown, she'd been hit for six when a new face came onto the screen. David Cameron: where had the world gone wrong?

The door opened.

A laughing young woman filled the void, followed closely by an equally amused young man who slung his arm around the woman and then looked at her. She had no idea what the joke was. "Hey dude."

Amanda smiled tightly. "Hi." Her mouth moving faster than her brain – as per usual – she blurted it out all at once. "This may sound like a strange request, but can I visit your bathroom?"

"Why?" asked the young woman. Amanda felt awkward as she looked up and down at her figure. "You gonna be sick or something?" added the man dubiously.

"No," winced Amanda. "I just..."

"We're kidding," said the young woman as they both laughed. "Come on in."

Marvelling at the ease with which they welcomed her, but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Amanda stepped forward, shifting past the couple as she shuffled in.

Standing before the tub and those familiar blue walls, she hoped. She prayed to whichever deity was currently on duty that her most fervent wish would come true. Reaching out a hand, she opened the wall panel ...

... and saw pipes.

* * *

Two weeks on and Amanda felt like there was a gigantic hole in her life. In her very being. There was something missing. She'd been back twice to her old apartment, but with no luck. She would have gone back again, but she'd suspected the bobbies might come for a visit. With nowhere to turn, and no one to talk to, she'd just switched off, going about the paces of her life.

Just waiting.

It was a source of constant amazement how easily she had slipped into that dreary existence that had ruled her life before... _then_. She never could finish the line of thought. But unfortunately this time, she had no book or fantasies to indulge in to get away from it all.

Wake up, shower, dress, eat, leave, grab a coffee, get to work, work, lunch, work, home, eat, sleep. Repeat.

You had to love the bureaucracy. Not only was her job still there after five years absent, but absolutely nothing had changed. The chair was still missing a screw, the computer still took a lifetime and a half to get up and running, and even the bottom of the top-left corner of her desk was still propped up with folded cardboard.

Seeing the back of appointment number six on this dreary Tuesday, she finished up the online file, saved the changes and pressed the buzzer for the next person to come to her station.

She reached out a hand for the paperwork as her next client moved toward her, her eyes still on the screen to check that the data had saved. Her thumb flicking each page and checking there were five like she'd done countless times before, she turned her gaze to the person now seated opposite... and froze.

"Wickham...?"

_

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Next Chapter:

A choice.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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"Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you?" declared Wickham. "The amount of pollution up there made zoning in on your position exceedingly difficult."

He paused a moment to ponder as Amanda just looked at him.

"Something should probably be done about that."

Amanda gaped like a goldfish.

"Even Amy had trouble getting here," continued Wickham in tut-tutting tones, as if Amanda should be the one to answer to their apparent difficulties.

"Who's Amy?" asked the bewildered Amanda, feeling like her grip on this reality was slipping as well.

George was reclining back on his chair, one leg crossed over the other as he grinned. "No one you need do know about," he said mysteriously.

He leaned forward now, suddenly serious. "And now to my point. You, my-dear-stuck-in-the-wrong-time, have to make a choice."

"A choice," she repeated faintly.

"Forever you must stay, or forever you must go," said George ambiguously. "A choice you must make."

He sounded nothing like the cocky Victorian gentleman she knew she had _not _invented, and was _not_ a dream.

"It's too much for me to keep up with," said Wickham, his usual self back. "Call me selfish, but I bet you could do with one storyline yourself."

Amanda snorted at the absurdity of the situation. "Next you'll be telling me that you're Jane Austen herself."

Wickham grinned, rose from his chair, doffed his hat and prepared to leave.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

Realising he was actually leaving, she hastened to rise from her seat. "Wickham!" she cried out, ignoring the people that turned to look at her.

"What is going on?"

He turned swiftly and gripped her elbow. "We don't have time for this," he said harshly.

She looked at him in confusion.

"Choose."

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_Next Chapter: _ Reader, she went.


	6. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

* * *

Bopping her head to the music playing through her iPod, Shasta Perkins plucked a book from the shelf and read the cover.

_Pride and Prejudice: The Real Story._

Flipping the paperback over, she read the blurb.

_"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." _

_The long loved story of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett has long held our imagination, but where did it all begin? After discovering well preserved journals hidden in the study at Pemberton, Jonathon Vaughan can reveal it all began with a man, a woman and a writer._

_This is the story of Fitzwilliam and Amanda..._

* * *

Meanwhile, several years in the past, Amanda Darcy (nee Price) laid down her quill. Waiting for the paper to dry, she then bundled the journal together and moved toward the bookcase. Pressing a knob, she slipped it into the space revealed.

Leaving the room, she pondered that she had never thought of herself as much of a writer, but she figured this story needed to be told.

She smiled inwardly as she imagined the reaction of the beloved readers if it was ever found, or better if they actually found out that everyone's beloved Jane Austen was actually the hated George Wickham himself.

Slipping from the room, she crossed the hall and entered the garden. Raising her hand, she laughed when her two sons barely spared her any attention as they galloped around the courtyard.

Looking for her daughter, she ventured to the shrubbery off to the left and sure enough, as she looked upward, Bess was hidden among the branches, a book in hand and another in her lap.

Leaving her engrossed little girl undisturbed, she looked toward the water where she found her husband walking toward her. A smile adorned her face every time she looked at him, and this occasion was no different.

Lost she may be, but love had found her at last.

* * *

_Finito, and thank you to all the readers who have followed this over the last year. _


End file.
